


The Man Behind the Curtain

by lookninjas



Series: The Man Behind the Curtain (Ben!verse) [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Casual homophobia and sexism, Discussions of infidelity, Gen, discussions of medically-assisted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine doesn't really want to go to Arizona for his grandfather's birthday, but he promised to take care of his dad, and a promise is a promise.  Even if it is going to be a lot harder than he thought it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [ben!verse](http://lookninjas.livejournal.com/tag/ben!verse). This is a companion piece to [All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues](http://lookninjas.livejournal.com/137980.html), but will hopefully make sense if you haven't read that fic (which is admittedly kind of a beast. Not that this one's that much shorter, really.) Both fics follow the same basic plotline, but this one is from Blaine's POV, not Ben's. And there's much more Kurt.

"Take care of your father for me," she says, quietly, and Blaine turns away from the duffel bag he's packing (every piece of clothing carefully chosen with an eye to what Kurt would think about it, even though Kurt won't be there to see) and looks up at his mother. She's standing in the doorway, casually dressed in jeans and an old cardigan, with her long hair hanging down. She looks very small.

Blaine smiles at her, doing his best to be reassuring. "He'll be fine, Mom. I'll make sure he gets an aisle seat, and I've already packed a book for him if he wants to read, and some gum in case he forgets, and --"

"That's not what I meant," his mother says, but she's smiling a little as she picks her way across the room, each step carefully measured. She sinks down on the bed, her toes just grazing the floor, and Blaine stares quickly back down at his bag.

The truth is, he knows what she meant. She wasn't talking about the plane or his dad's fear of heights or the way he gets earaches every time he flies. She was talking about his dad's family, about Grandpa Anderson, and the way he... But it's not the sort of thing they usually talk about. So Blaine doesn't really know what he's supposed to say. He's never done anything like this before.

His mother sighs, and reaches out, the tips of her fingers just grazing the ends of Blaine's curls, the most tenuous of contacts. "Blaine," she says. "I know you're not stupid. And I know that... As much as we might want to keep you from being exposed to... to _everything_... Well. I don't think we've succeeded that well."

Blaine swallows hard.

It had been Thanksgiving -- they always did Thanksgiving with his dad's family, like it was some sort of bargain his parents had struck, dividing up the holidays: Thanksgiving in Arizona with his dad's family, New Year's in Dearborn with his mom's. Christmas was just for them, a quiet day at home with just the three of them. Blaine hadn't realized it when he was younger, but now he thought that maybe it was by design, a chance for them to breathe and regroup after seeing his dad's family, so they'd be strong enough to handle his mother's. They'd definitely needed that space last year. _Definitely._

After that scene at the restaurant, after everything Blaine's grandfather had said, about Blaine going to private school and how he'd never learn to be a man if his parents kept... Which had gotten him started in on Blaine's dad, which had been awful, and then he'd said even _worse_ things about Blaine's mom, just going and going until she excused herself and hurried out of the restaurant. And Blaine had been sent out after her, to calm her down, so he has no idea what happened after that. He has no idea what his father said, how he defended his family. But he knows that it must have happened, because Grandpa was quiet for the rest of the visit.

That doesn't mean he'll be quiet this time, though. Even if Blaine's mom stays home, he'll probably find something to be mean about. Some way of starting a fight. It seems to be what he does, mostly.

"Mom?" Blaine asks, still staring down at his bag. There's a purple t-shirt on top of the rest of his clothes, still unfolded. Blaine's not sure whether he's going to take it or not. It's really plain. But Kurt likes it; he says he likes the way it brings out the green in Blaine's eyes, so maybe... "It's not just... It's not just because Grandpa's got Alzheimer's, is it? He's always... He's always been like this."

His mother's fingers stop hovering over his hair, sink down to rub circles into his scalp, and Blaine closes his eyes and leans back into her touch. "I know you and your dad have gone through some rough patches lately," she says, quietly. "And I know there were times when you thought that he... But your father loves you, Blaine. You know that, don't you?"

Which isn't really an answer, but at the same time, it kind of is. An awful answer, but still an answer. "I know," Blaine says, his voice soft. Because he does know. His dad doesn't always understand him, and sometimes it feels like he'd be happier if Blaine were smarter, or braver, or _straighter_ , but that doesn't mean that his dad doesn't love him, and Blaine gets that, he really does. And he loves his dad, no matter what.

And that's why he's going back to Arizona, even if he really, really doesn't want to.

Blaine lifts his head, looks at his mother, tries to smile again. She watches him with dark eyes, and he can't really read her face. It's not that there's no emotion there -- it's that there's so many. She looks sad, mostly, and more than a little worried. Guilty, too. Definitely that, definitely guilty. "It's okay," Blaine says, because it's not her fault that she's not going with them, and his mother's hand slides down to his cheek, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. "I'll take care of him. I promise."

His mother smiles at him, just briefly, then pats his cheek and stands up. "I know you will," she says, smiling, then pushes back up to her feet and hurries out of the room without another word.

Blaine looks back down at his duffel bag, chewing absently on his lower lip. The thing is, he knows his grandpa isn't... He's not exactly the most modern guy. And he tends to just sort of say these things, and sometimes -- a lot of times, actually -- they're pretty hurtful. And he'll definitely have something to say if Blaine shows up on his doorstep wearing a purple t-shirt. And yeah, Kurt likes how it brings out the green in Blaine's eyes, but Kurt's not going to be in Arizona. His dad is. And it's not like his dad wouldn't defend him if Grandpa said something horrible. He would. Of course he would. But maybe he shouldn't have to, this time.

_Take care of your father for me._

Blaine sighs and starts pulling things out of his bag. He's going to have to start over.

 

*

 

One of the great things about Kurt (because there's a lot of great things about Kurt, and sometimes Blaine still gets a little annoyed at himself, that it took him so long to _see_ it) is that he totally understands the idea of family time. In fact, he probably understands it better than Blaine does. He even told Blaine that it'd be all right if he didn't hear from him at all while Blaine was in Arizona. That he would understand. And he would, too. Blaine knows that.

But he also knows that family time for him isn't the same as family time for Kurt, isn't even close, and he's going to need some kind of a lifeline to get through the next three days. And a few texts, here and there, that won't take up too much of his time. He can still be there for his dad. He'll just have Kurt being there for him, too. It feels like a good, reasonable compromise.

Or at least, it does right up until he's standing at the baggage claim, one eye on the conveyor belt and one eye on his phone as he texts Kurt, just a quick little note to say _plane's landed, everyone's ok so far_ , and his father comes up behind him, clearing his throat. "I think your bag just went that way," his dad says, pointing to the very end of the line, where Blaine's duffel bag is disappearing from view. Blaine groans, chagrined, and his father shakes his head with the very faintest of smiles on his face. "Tell Kurt I said hello," he adds, and strolls back to the other end of the conveyor belt.

Blaine watches him walk away, and tries to figure out whether his dad is annoyed at him or not.

The problem is that his dad tends to be quiet when he's mad, but then he's also quiet when he's joking around and being sarcastic, and then, too, he's quiet when he's... He's pretty much quiet all the time, really. And sometimes Blaine kind of appreciates that -- he likes that his dad doesn't shout at him, likes that he tries to be reasonable, even likes it when his dad says totally ridiculous stuff with a perfectly straight face and absolutely no inflection, because that's actually pretty funny. But it gets frustrating too, because Blaine doesn't always know if his dad's being sarcastic or serious or what, and it would just be easier for him to know how to behave if he knew what his dad was thinking sometimes. If his dad would just... if he'd just _show_ him, rather than waiting for Blaine to figure it out on his own.

Blaine's phone buzzes in his hand. Kurt, of course.

_**Bet your dad's relieved. Did he get through the flight okay?** _

Blaine looks down at his phone, and thinks for a few seconds.

The thing is, he's gotten the impression that he and Kurt read things completely differently sometimes. Not that Kurt would ever say that Blaine was wrong, or tell him what to think or how to feel or anything. But every so often, he'll quietly suggest that maybe Blaine's father wasn't being sarcastic when he complimented Blaine's B+ in calculus, that he was being sincere when he said that Blaine's plans for the Warblers sounded interesting. Or that he didn't really mean it when he said that Blaine and Kurt were the most irresponsible teenagers he'd ever met, even if they had missed curfew by three minutes, because it was the only time they'd ever missed curfew and it wouldn't make sense for him to be serious; that he'd never expected Blaine to take him seriously because it was such a ridiculous thing to say. That maybe he'd said it with a straight face, but it didn't mean he _meant_ it.

And while Kurt's obviously biased by his own father, the way they are with each other, so open and free and relaxed... Well, he's also smart. Smarter than Blaine, most of the time. Especially when it comes to people.

So Blaine bites his lip, hits _Reply_ , and after one last glance at his father at the other end of the conveyor belt, he types out:

_he's fine, he says hi_

Approximately forty-five seconds later, Blaine's phone buzzes again. He looks down at it, grins, looks back up at his father. Then he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and walks over to his dad. He taps him on the shoulder, and when he's got his dad's attention, he passes the phone over. It only takes a second or two for his father to read the text --

_**Hi, Mr. Anderson! :)** _

\-- and he smiles back at Blaine, pushing his glasses up on his face and looking almost a little embarrassed before he hands the phone back over.

"I like Kurt," his father says, quietly. Then, "I hope he's not too mad at me for dragging you away like this, this late in the summer."

"He understands," Blaine says, turning away to watch the belt. He thinks that, in a weird way, his dad's been trying to restart the argument they've been having for over a week now, the one where his dad tries to convince him that he doesn't want to visit his grandparents in Arizona, and Blaine tries to convince him that no, really, he _does_. Except that he doesn't want to visit his grandparents, not as such. Mostly he just wants to be here, with his dad. _Take care of him for me._ "It's family; Kurt gets that. And anyway..." His father's suitcase comes rattling down the conveyor belt towards them; Blaine reaches out and snags it. "You're not dragging me anywhere. I wanted to come."

His dad sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then reaches up with a tentative hand and rests it, just gently, on Blaine's shoulder. "I'm glad," he says, quietly. "I'm glad you came."

And it's weird how, sometimes, it's those small things that his dad says that just make Blaine feel happy all over. "I'm glad, too," he says. It comes out sounding a little too strange, a little too earnest, maybe, and Blaine's relieved to see his duffel bag coming back around on the belt, because it's an excuse to not have to look at his father, to keep his face hidden. "So I know we've still got to go pick up the car," he says, lifting his bag off the belt and settling it on his shoulder. "And everything. And I know Grandma likes to have dinner early. But I was thinking... You know how we usually go to Cinnabon when we come here, because Mom's blood sugar gets weird and everything, and she has to eat something as soon as she gets off the plane? And, I mean, I know she's not here, but..."

"We're already running late." Blaine's dad pats his shoulder lightly, then lets his hand settle back down, not pulling away like he usually would. "After all that time we spent just sitting on the tarmac... And I'm sure your grandmother is worried, and Aunt Katie's probably frantic..." He sighs, and his grip on Blaine's shoulder tightens, just a little bit. "But yes. Let's go to Cinnabon. As long as you're willing to let me blame you when Aunt Katie starts yelling."

Blaine risks a quick glance at his father, finds him smiling quietly to himself. "She wouldn't believe you," he says, trying to match his father's deadpan expression. "Anyway, she... She likes me better, anyway."

"Really? You'd sell me out like that?" But Blaine's dad grins quick and sudden, his hand on Blaine's shoulder steering him away from the baggage claim towards the main concourse. "Sometimes it's like I don't even know you, Blaine."

"Deal with it, Dad." Blaine tenses up as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because he's pretty sure that _that_ was going too far, but his dad just laughs, and his hand stays on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine starts to think that maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.

 

*

 

Blaine's never really liked Arizona.

Which is probably not entirely fair; he's sure that the state as a whole is not that bad, and even Sedona is probably mostly okay, although he's never really _seen_ any of it, so he can't be sure. It's just that, whenever they go to Arizona, they go to his grandparents' house. And that's the only place they go. His grandparents' house, whatever hotel they're staying at, and then maybe a restaurant (although after last Thanksgiving, Blaine kind of doesn't want to go to any restaurants in Sedona ever again). That's it. That's all he ever sees.

It makes him miss the farm.

They never went all that often, and usually it was just for the day, but he always liked it, liked exploring. There was the attic full of old toys -- his dad's old Lincoln Logs and the puppet theater that Aunt Katie made out of cardboard and felt. The garage with its walls lined with tools; the old chicken coop, still littered with feathers; the vegetable garden left neglected, growing nothing but rhubarb and weeds. The overgrown two-track that led him away from bare and sunny fields into the cool shelter of the back woods, damp and faintly swampy, oaks and maples gradually giving way to pine and cedar as Blaine wandered, further and further away from the house where his grandmother pored through old photo albums and his grandfather stayed locked away in his study. His dad never stopped him from roaming as far as he felt like going. Sometimes he even came along, the unbuttoned cuffs of his shirt unrolling and flapping around his hands, brushing against Blaine's bare arms as they walked. And Blaine would catch his father looking off into the distance like he was remembering something, and he'd smile for no reason, and Blaine always wondered what it was that he was thinking about, but for one reason or another, he never got around to asking.

He's not sure why it never occurred to him that this could be the answer -- that he could just sit with his grandmother and her photo albums and watch her flip through the pages, looking at all the pictures and listening to her tell stories about them. It's kind of perfect, actually, even if it feels a little bit like cheating, like it's too easy somehow. It's not like he's got anything better to do, and anyway, his dad would probably be relieved. He hates talking about himself.

That doesn't stop Blaine from feeling a little bit guilty when his dad walks in just as his grandma says "And that's your dad with _his_ grandfather;" he tears his eyes away from the photo album briefly, gives his dad a quick, sheepish smile, then looks away before he can see his father's response. "Grandpa Richard. Your grandfather's father. He's the one who had the farm; we have it now, of course, but it was his, first. You've been to the farm?"

"Yeah," he says, studying the picture. Grandpa Richard had been tall, like Blaine's grandpa and his uncle John. Blaine's dad looks tiny next to him, just a skinny kid with fine, straight, dark hair, little round glasses making him look older and probably a lot more serious than he really was at the time. But he's holding Grandpa Richard's hand, and he's smiling. He looks happy. "Yeah, I have."

Blaine glances over at his dad again; he's set the bags down and is crouching next to them, sort of fiddling with the straps, but it doesn't look like there's a reason for it. It looks like... well. Like he's trying to _look_ busy, but is really just listening in, soaking in Grandma's stories the same way that Blaine is. The tips of his ears are red, and Blaine feels an unexpected wave of fondness for his dad right then. He just looks so vulnerable.

"-- had this old car, funny-looking thing."

Blaine blinks at his grandmother, trying to focus on what she's saying. She's turned the page by now, her eyes scanning old snapshots -- a teenaged Uncle John flexing for the camera, Aunt Katie at ten years old, holding up a frog and looking pleased. Whatever story Grandma's telling, it doesn't really connect to the pictures she's showing, but Blaine can't quite bring himself to point that out. "Always tinkering with it, and of course, your father was always at his elbow, trying to help him with it. They doted on each other, him and his grandpa. I remember Jacob used to get so _mad_. No son of his was going to waste his time turning into a common mechanic. Goodness no. We'd never..."

He can't quite suppress the way he flinches at that, _common mechanic_ , thinking of Kurt's dad and how kind he's been, thinking of what Grandma and Grandpa would think if they only knew. If they'd let Blaine or his father just _tell_ them, instead of changing the subject or brushing it away the way they always...

Blaine's dad clears his throat. "He was joking, Mom," he says, his eyes fixed on Blaine's face, watching him. "That's all. You know how Dad is. It was just a joke."

"No, it wasn't." Grandpa has his head still tucked firmly against his chest, like he's talking in his sleep or something. And maybe he is, but probably not. His voice is too clear, his words too precise. Like he's choosing every hurtful word. "You're too smart for that, Ben. No sense wasting that brain of yours. And hell, not like you were good at it anyway. Think you hurt more than you helped."

Blaine's dad clears his throat again, and he goes back to staring at the luggage.

 _Take care of him for me,_ Blaine thinks, and he knows that this is exactly what his mother was talking about. Because Grandpa's always said things like this to Blaine's dad; he's always been casual and cruel, and it's up to Blaine to protect his father from that. Somehow. "So," he says, watching his father fiddle with the straps of Blaine's duffel bag, and that's it; that's their escape. "Um. Dad. Did you need help with the luggage? Because I could --"

He's halfway to standing when Grandma grabs him by the wrist and tugs him back down again. "Oh, here we go! I knew there was a picture of it somewhere. There you are, Blaine; that's the car your father was so fond of. Funny-looking old thing, isn't it?"

And there's Blaine's dad and Grandpa Richard, standing on opposite sides of a car. It looks old, with the wide grill and chrome bumpers of a classic 50s Chevy, and the windshield has that funny, sort of trapezoidal shape, a little too narrow at the top and then flaring out at the bottom to wrap around the frame, almost merging into the side windows. The headlights are high up, not low like the ones on the car he and his dad rebuilt, and Blaine can't see the interior, let alone the flowing gold script above the trunk latch that would tell him for certain, but he knows anyway. He just... He knows.

"Is that a _Bel Air_?" he asks, and he's pretty sure he sounds a little breathless, but he doesn't really care. "Because it looks like... I mean, maybe it's a little longer in the front than ours, but..."

"It was older," his father says, quickly. Blaine turns to look at him, and he's still hiding his face, and the tips of his ears are still red, and oh. _Oh._ "A '55, maybe? Or a '56; I don't remember anymore."

Grandma laughs and turns the page; it takes everything Blaine has not to snatch the album off her lap and turn the pages back again. He wants to stare at that picture for hours. He wants to take it home and frame it and keep it forever, because it explains _so much_. "It was ancient, Benjamin. That's what it was. Old. I always wondered why your grandfather hung on to it. But he loved that thing. Do you remember when he taught you to drive it? Back at the farm? Oh, the damage you did... Some of those old trees will never be the same. But that car was just fine. Tough as nails, even if it didn't look like much."

And it's weird, how such a small thing makes everything else make sense. Because Blaine's always known that his dad's not really a car guy. He reads _Consumer Reports_ and he shops around and he test-drives, because he wants to make sure that he buys a safe, reliable vehicle, something with decent fuel economy, something that'll do well in a crash and not need too much repair, but he doesn't really _like_ cars, not the way that Kurt and his dad like cars. Definitely not enough to want to rebuild one. But if it was his grandpa's car, if he helped work on it and learned to drive in it and had good memories in it...

"Dad," Blaine says, and before he even really knows what he's doing he's sort of tumbling off the couch, tripping over himself with eagerness, hurrying over to his father and reaching out to snag his dad's suitcase one-handed. "Here, I can... Let me help."

His dad just blinks at him, and he looks... embarrassed, maybe? But pleased, too. "Okay," he says, and picks up Blaine's duffel bag and backpack. Blaine grabs his father's briefcase, and the two of them set off down the hallway together, shoulders bumping and nudging as they try not to bang into the walls too much, more careful with the floral wallpaper and the framed pictures than they are with themselves or with each other. But it's nice, the way they keep coming into contact.

Anyway, it's pretty much the only way Blaine's got of saying anything to his dad right now, because his words are all caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, stuck tight. It's the way his dad's ears are still pink; it's the way he sort of hunched in on himself when Grandpa said he'd never been good with cars; it's the way he suddenly looks so much like that skinny little kid, beaming with pride as he stood next to his grandfather's car, the one _he'd_ helped fix. It's the idea that his dad saw that same skinny kid in _him_ , that he'd been trying to give him something when they rebuilt the Bel Air together, something that had helped him when he was younger. And it's the way Blaine wishes that he'd seen this sooner, that he'd known, somehow, what his dad has never really been able to tell him.

There's just so much unsaid between them, so many things Blaine wants to ask, to know. But then they're shuffling into the spare bedroom, crowded together and weighted down by the luggage, and the only thing Blaine can think of to say is, "I'll take the air mattress. You know, so you can... So you can have the bed."

His father blinks at him again, then shrugs and sets Blaine's bags down. "Fine," he says, but there's that faint smile on his face again. "I'll just go and... I'll just go and ask Aunt Katie if she knows where it is. I'm sure it's around here somewhere."

It takes Blaine a few seconds to process this; he tears his eyes away from his father and looks around the room, and... oh. There's no air mattress. There usually is, those times when they can't get a hotel room and have to stay here, but since Blaine's mom didn't come this time, Grandma must have thought that... "Oh," he says, feeling kind of stupid. "I didn't... It's okay. You don't have to. We can --"

"It's fine, Blaine," his dad says, and reaches out to ruffle Blaine's hair, which is something he hasn't done in _years_. "I'll be right back." And then he's gone, leaving Blaine to stare at the empty doorway and try to make sense of all the things that he's feeling right now.

He gives up after about five seconds, drops his dad's luggage and collapses on the bed, digging in his pocket for his cellphone. Because this is something he needs to tell someone about, and the only person who would really understand is Kurt. Because Kurt understands everything, even the things that Blaine doesn't.

_i've told you about the bel air, haven't i?_

He hits _send_ and then panics for a second, because he doesn't know where Kurt is or what he's doing or if he's too busy or... But it's fine, because Kurt's answer comes promptly, like he's been waiting by the phone.

_**Only about a thousand times. Why?** _

Blaine flushes, because yeah, the Bel Air has come up a few times. And maybe Blaine wasn't as... understanding of his father's motives back then. But he understands now. It's _different_ , now. He just has to find a way to say it.

_you should come see it when we get back home. i think you'd really like it._

Which is maybe not the best way of saying _Hey, Kurt, I was totally wrong about my father and you were totally right; please don't gloat too much_ , but again, Kurt gets it.

_**I would. I'd like that a lot. So it's a date?** _

Blaine grins stupidly at his phone; he tends to get that way when Kurt uses words like _date_ or _boyfriend_ or _love_ (especially _love_ ; he never gets tired of _love_ ), and he's kind of given up caring by now. Kurt doesn't mind, and even if he did, it's not like he can see Blaine right now, so.

_definitely. it's definitely a date._

He sends the message, thinks for a few seconds, and then types out one more just in case he doesn't have a chance to text Kurt again before bed.

_love you._

The response is immediate and totally gratifying.

_**I love you too.** _

Blaine stares at it for a while (he's really never going to get tired of that), then smiles and tucks his phone away again. He should unpack, anyway.

 

*

 

Blaine wakes up fuzzy and confused, curled up underneath a quilt that looks just barely familiar, and it takes him a few seconds to figure out where he is and why the floor is so much closer than usual. It's not that he's forgotten that he was at his grandparents' house, on a squeaky air mattress in the guest bedroom, it's just... He doesn't usually have dreams like the ones he had last night if he's not home, if he's not going to wake up in his own bed, and so now he's just...

Jet lag, probably. Arizona is two hours behind Ohio, which maybe isn't that much, but it's probably enough to give him wonky dreams and make him feel fuzzy like he does right now. That's probably what it is.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks up at the bed where his father slept last night. It's already empty, of course. Neatly made, because that's what his father does. He likes to leave a room the way he found it, like he'd never been there at all.

Blaine sighs, and runs his hands through his hair, and gets out of bed. If his dad is up, he figures he probably should be too.

Once he's dressed and has his contacts in and has done the best he can in making up his own bed, he pads out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee and cinnamon into the kitchen. His dad's already there, standing at the kitchen island with Aunt Katie, and it's funny, the way they're looking at each other. Like they both want to say something, or they're each waiting for the other person to speak, or something. But then they hear him coming, and they look up, and whatever moment they were sharing, it's already over. Blaine feels a little bit bad about that; he almost wants to leave and let them talk a little bit longer. But at the same time, he can't. He's still foggy from dreaming and confused from waking up in an unfamiliar bed, and he just wants to be _here_ , where his dad is making breakfast like he does every morning. It's familiar and safe and it's exactly what Blaine needs, and he's too selfish right now to stop himself.

"Morning," he mumbles, crossing over to the kitchen island, and he stands by his father's shoulder, blatantly hovering. His dad just smiles at him, then goes back to whisking something together in a bowl, his sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows, his movements precise. There's a loaf of bread -- homemade bread, his grandmother's specialty -- near his father's elbow, cut into even slices, and Blaine smiles, feeling some of the weirdness clogging up his head finally ebbing away. "Ooh," he says. "French toast?"

"That's the plan," his father replies; he sets the bowl down, then turns and heads for the stove. His shoulder bumps up against Blaine's as he passes, and Blaine isn't sure if it was a deliberate sort of a nudge or if his dad just wasn't paying attention to where he was going. But his dad always pays attention to things, really, so maybe...

Blaine watches his father pull a pan out of the cupboards, get butter out of the fridge, turn the oven on and grab a plate from one of the higher cabinets, not having to rummage around for anything, just knowing where it is, like it's their kitchen at home. And it's comforting to watch, but it's not quite enough. So Blaine picks up the cutting board with the bread on it, carrying it over to his father, then goes back for the egg mixture. He passes it into his father's hands, stays hovering at his shoulder as his father dips the first slices of bread in, then lays them out in the pan. And it's better, being close to him like this, but it's still not enough. He needs... He needs something different. Something more.

He sighs and slouches down, leaning in to rest his chin on his father's shoulder. His father lets out a quiet hum, reaching out to one of the drawers for a spatula, and Blaine moves with him, wrapping one arm around his dad's waist to keep him near. "I'm not in the way," he says. "Am I?"

"You're fine," his father replies. He reaches down with his free hand to pat at Blaine's wrist. "Didn't sleep well last night?"

Blaine thinks about it for a few seconds, then lets his other arm settle around his father's waist, too, letting himself cling. "Funny dreams," he mumbles. "Not bad dreams, exactly, just... funny." He sighs again, because he's pretty sure it wasn't _all_ dreams, and asks "Was Grandpa wandering around last night? I remember... I remember hearing noises. In the hallway."

His father flips the french toast over, like he doesn't want to answer right away. "He... A little bit," he says, finally. "I hope it didn't take you too long to get back to sleep. I _did_ try to --"

"No, it's fine." Blaine lets his eyes drift shut for a few seconds, and this is it. This is what he needed. This is _enough_. "Just. Like I said. I had some funny dreams, and I wasn't sure if... But it's fine."

"Okay," his dad says, and pats Blaine's wrist again. "Just... Just checking." He shifts to grab the plate, and Blaine moves with him, letting go of his father just long enough to reach down and pull the oven open; his dad slides the plate with the first few slices of french toast inside, so they can stay warm, and Blaine shuts the oven again.

Behind them, Aunt Katie lets out a soft laugh, and Blaine startles; he'd almost forgotten she was there, and he's not sure whether he should let go of his dad, stop acting like a lamprey and being weird, or if he should just stay where he is like nothing's wrong. His dad doesn't even twitch, his hands sure as he dips more bread, lays it in the pan. "Something funny?" he asks, his voice very mild.

"You really _do_ do this all the time, don't you?" Katie asks, picking up some conversation that Blaine must have missed. "Look at you. You're like some kind of two-headed monster."

His dad shrugs one-sided, his right shoulder rising and falling, his left shoulder staying steady, giving Blaine a place to rest his head. "I always wanted an extra set of arms," he says. "Really, it's a shame I can't get him to do this more often."

"I have to go to school sometime, Dad," Blaine murmurs, and his dad chuckles quietly, just loud enough for Blaine to hear. Blaine hugs his father a little closer for a second, then lifts his head, kisses his father's cheek, and lets go. He doesn't totally want to, doesn't feel like he's totally settled down yet, but he does feel at least a little better, and anyway, it's probably time for him to start acting like a grownup again. "Did you want coffee?"

"Please," his father says. When Blaine pulls away, he feels his dad's fingers at his wrist one last time, like his father wants to pull him back. But he doesn't, so Blaine keeps going, heading across the kitchen to the coffeemaker and hoping that the caffeine will be enough to pull him all the way back to normal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine doesn't really want to go to Arizona for his grandfather's birthday, but he promised to take care of his dad, and a promise is a promise. Even if it is going to be a lot harder than he thought it was.

Blaine sits on the bed in the guest room, stares at his phone, and tries to think of something to say, some way of phrasing things so that Kurt will know what's going on but won't be too worried.   
  
It's not exactly easy.  
  
 _so apparently grandpa thinks it's my dad's fault i'm gay._  
  
is too angry, and Kurt's bound to get upset, but  
  
 _dad and grandpa had a fight and dad wants to go home. i'm starting to think maybe we should._  
  
isn't even remotely accurate, even if it does _sound_ better, and   
  
_i think grandpa's getting worse_  
  
is true in a whole lot of ways, but is way too vague and Kurt will have questions, and Blaine doesn't think he could answer all of them via text message, or even in a phone call. He needs to _see_ Kurt to tell him, needs him there because then it won't matter what he says or how he says it, because he won't have to be embarrassed and Kurt won't have to be worried, because it's different when they're together. It's easier.   
  
But at the same time, Blaine's not sure how he's going to last, holding on to this until he sees Kurt again. It's too much for him to contain, not just the anger but _everything_ , all these contradictory emotions, starting with the warm tugging at his chest when his grandmother turned the pages of her photo album and showed him his father as a younger man, sitting on the edge of his desk with Blaine tucked carefully in the cradle of his arm, feeding Blaine from a bottle and smiling, just a little bit, gently. And yes, ending with the hurt and confusion and flat-out anger when Grandpa had turned to Grandma like she was the one talking, even though she wasn't, even though Blaine and his father were _right there_ , and said:  
  
 _Ben keeps getting things twisted up like this, that boy's not going to know what he's supposed to be. Probably turn into a damn sissy._  
  
But also everything in between, too. Like the idea that Blaine's mom had actually been too sick to care for him when he was a baby, and how was she sick in the first place? Was it something he'd done? And did it mean anything now, did it explain the moments where he still felt like she just didn't quite know what to do with him, or was it just a coincidence? And then the way Grandpa had said it was because she was lazy, and Grandma had said that some women just didn't _take_ to motherhood, whatever that was supposed to mean. Which had pissed Blaine right off, because yeah, he and his mother had their moments but she wasn't a bad _person_ ; and it had obviously pissed Blaine's dad off, too, because he'd raised his voice in a way that he rarely ever did, in a way that made Blaine's stomach twist up, suddenly nervous because he hadn't wanted anyone to fight, not over his mom.   
  
And not over him, either, although apparently they had -- apparently, after Blaine had stumbled out of the house because his ears were ringing and his eyes were prickling with tears (and yeah, he'd been called worse than _sissy_ but not by family, not by his own _Grandpa_ ), his dad had actually threatened to take Blaine and leave and never come back. Which is reassuring, in a way, because Blaine knows how hard that had to be. He knows how much his dad cares about these things, about being here, being with his family. He knows that must have taken a lot.  
  
But on the other hand, he kind of thinks that at some point his dad missed something.  
  
Because it's not about what Grandpa said, or it's not _just_ about that. It's the way that he said it, like he was picking up some old, long-ago argument that he and Grandma had been having. Like he'd lost track of where he was or maybe _when_ he was, like he honestly thought Blaine was still a baby and his dad was still taking him to work with him, feeding him and changing him and putting him down for naps in his office. Like he hadn't just forgotten that Blaine and his father were there, but like he'd forgotten everything, the sixteen years between Blaine being a baby and Blaine _now_. And maybe Blaine's dad hadn't noticed the slip, but Blaine had. Even as he'd fled, a small part of his brain kept chanting:  
  
 _he doesn't know we're here he doesn't know what year it is he doesn't know i'm not a baby anymore he doesn't know we're here_  
  
because it was _true_ , and Blaine had always thought that it was just something that people did in movies or on tv shows, that it didn't happen in real life. But it had. His grandfather had forgotten when he was; he'd picked up that argument like it had happened minutes ago, not years; and Blaine didn't know what to do with that.   
  
It was getting worse. Grandpa was getting worse. And maybe he'd be all right for the rest of the visit, and maybe he wouldn't, but even if he was, he'd probably be bad again by Thanksgiving. And what would he say, next time? Would it be something about Blaine, or maybe his mother, or maybe even his dad? Or all three of them? Or would he go further back than that, like to his dad's childhood? Blaine knows his grandfather has always been kind of mean, even before the Alzheimer's really started to show. He's probably got years' worth of old fights and insults and grudges to dredge up. And he's already made fun of Blaine's dad for not being good with cars, and accused him of getting things twisted and turning Blaine gay, and this is just the start. What else does he have stored up?  
  
And how is Blaine supposed to take care of his father when right now he's not sure if he can even look at his grandparents ever again?  
  
His phone vibrates in his hand, lighting up with a message. It's Kurt, of course, and for a few seconds, Blaine doesn't even want to look at it. He does, of course he does; it's just... He doesn't know what to say right now. He doesn't know if he should try to act normal or immediately tell Kurt everything or _what_ , and he's scared of what might happen either way.   
  
But it's _Kurt_ , so Blaine opens the message.  
  
 _ **Haven't heard from you all day. How's everything going? Anything exciting happening?**_  
  
Blaine can't help the little rush of anger and hurt, even though he feels guilty almost as soon as it happens. Because of course Kurt doesn't _really_ know, and anyway, Blaine's talked about how boring and awful Sedona is so many times that it makes perfect sense for Kurt to joke about it. It's just... it's bad timing. But Blaine swallows hard, and replies with the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
 _did you know my dad used to take me to work with him? he had a crib set up in his office and everything. there's pictures._  
  
Kurt's answer is as close to immediate as it can be.  
  
 _ **Awww.**_  
  
He follows it up a few seconds later with  
  
 _ **You should steal some pictures for me. I have to see this.**_  
  
And then, after that,  
  
 _ **Anyway, your parents have like no baby pictures. I feel like I'm missing out.**_  
  
And that hurts, too. But everything hurts right now; honestly, Blaine's just one big bruise all over and it's not Kurt's fault, and he doesn't want Kurt to worry about him when they're too far apart for Kurt to even do anything, so he types out  
  
 _will do_  
  
and hits _send_. Then, after a little bit more thought, he sends out another message.  
  
 _i think my grandma's the only one who has pictures because my mom was really sick when i was a baby, and my dad was busy taking care of us so he didn't have time. but my grandma took pictures when she came to visit. so that's why she has them and we don't._  
  
It takes Kurt a lot longer to reply this time.  
  
 _ **I didn't know your mother had been sick. I'm sorry. Do you know what was wrong with her?**_  
  
And Blaine had wanted to hold it all inside, but he's starting to realize that he just can't, so he stops trying to think about what he's going to say and just says it, one message after another, as fast as he can type it out.  
  
 _no. just that dad says she was sick and grandpa doesn't believe him, but grandpa's kind of a jerk sometimes.  
  
i guess he and dad used to fight about it a lot.  
  
because grandpa thinks that kids should stay home with mom and dads should go out and work and not get involved or whatever.  
  
really old-fashioned, you know.  
  
there's more, too, but it's kind of a lot.  
  
i'll tell you when i get home.  
  
it's not that bad.  
  
that's a lie, it is that bad.  
  
but i'm okay, really.   
  
dad's being really good about everything.  
  
he and aunt katie are making iced tea. it's really hot here._  
  
When the _Message Sent!_ notification flashes up for the last time, Blaine just stares at it for a long time, momentarily out of words. He's pretty sure he shouldn't have said any of the things he just said, but it's too late to take them back. All he can do now is wait for Kurt to finish reading and see what he says.  
  
It doesn't take a long time for Kurt to reply, which is good, because Blaine doesn't think he could stand to wait.   
  
_**I LOVE YOU.**_  
  
Blaine's breath catches in his throat, and his eyes start to tear up.  
  
 _i love you too_  
  
 _ **Call me if you need anything, okay? ANYTHING.  
  
I mean it, Blaine.  
  
CALL ME.**_  
  
The screen starts to blur a little bit, and Blaine has to reach up to wipe his eyes just so he can see what he's typing, and it's weird that he's crying now, but it's not like he can really do anything about it.  
  
 _i will. i promise. i will._  
  
 _ **You'd better.**_  
  
Which is so very _Kurt_ that Blaine has to laugh a little bit, even though he's still sort of crying.   
  
_i promise_  
  
There's a tap on the door frame, and when Blaine looks up, he sees his father standing there, his nose pink from spending so much time on the front steps with Blaine; and even though there are so many things happening right now that Blaine doesn't have time to feel them all, he can't deny that there's a little spreading warmth in his chest. Because his dad stood up for him, and his dad sat out in the sun with him even though it was hot and he _hates_ the heat, and his dad is willing to leave right now even if it means they spend two days wandering around Arizona looking at rock formations while they wait for their return flight, and his dad _loves_ him. And that helps.   
  
It helps a lot, actually.  
  
 _dad needs me. i've gotta go. i promise i'll call you if i need you. i love you._  
  
Blaine's phone is buzzing with Kurt's final message as he stuffs it into his pocket, but he resists the temptation to check it. He'll save it for later, when he needs it. Right now, his dad is looking at him with warm, worried affection, and that's enough for the moment.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Blaine doesn't go back to bed when his father leaves the room to go get Grandpa settled; he stays sitting up on his air mattress, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, watching the door, waiting. His dad didn't shut the door all the way; there's a sliver of light coming through, and if Blaine concentrates hard, he can hear them talking -- just a few words here and there, sentence fragments, taken out of context.  
  
"...come and gotten you..."  
  
"...let me bounce off the walls every night..."  
  
"...could never ignore you."  
  
But the voices fade as Grandpa's heavy footsteps do, as Blaine's dad leads his grandfather down the hall and... well. Somewhere else. The living room, maybe; that seems like it was the direction that they were heading, although Blaine's not really sure.   
  
He bites his lip and tries to think about what he should do.   
  
_Take care of your father for me._  
  
Blaine can still sort of feel his father's lips pressed to his forehead, a trace memory, like the echo of a dream. (All those weird dreams he has, the ones where he's sort of limp and sleepy and yet also awake, awake enough to feel someone else moving his body for him, shifting and rearranging him until everything sort of falls into place and feels _right_ , feels like home, and the last thing he remembers is someone kissing him on the forehead right in the very second before he falls asleep. Like the dream he had last night, the dream he's starting to think maybe wasn't a dream at all.) And he can still hear his father saying "I love you," like it was the most important thing he would ever say, his eyes fixed on Blaine's and his face absolutely serious.  
  
 _Your father loves you_. His mom had told him that, and she'd been right. Of course she had. But then there's that awful corollary, the part that neither Blaine nor his mother could say. _Your father loves you_ , but Blaine's grandfather doesn't love _his_ son, and Blaine can't fix that. He would if he could, but he can't. So he's kind of completely at a loss.  
  
He stares at the door and tries to figure out what to do.  
  
He could call Kurt, but it's late -- even later in Ohio than it is here in Arizona -- and although he's pretty sure that Kurt wouldn't mind, it still seems like... And anyway, Blaine still hasn't figured out how to talk about any of this, not really, and if he ever does figure out, his dad will almost certainly be back in the room by then. Hell, his dad will probably be in _bed_ by then, and maybe even sleeping. Or maybe just listening, laying awake and listening to Blaine talk to Kurt, which would probably just make things worse. Because Blaine has Kurt to talk to, but right now his dad doesn't really have anyone.  
  
Except Blaine. He does have Blaine.  
  
For some reason, Blaine finds himself thinking about the pictures his grandma had been showing him right before everything fell apart, those pictures of his dad in his office, sitting on the desk with Blaine in his arms. It's the way his dad was smiling, just a little bit, but he looked content. Happy. He looked like someone loved him. And someone did. Someone still does.   
  
Maybe it won't fix everything, but it is a place to start.   
  
Blaine unfolds himself, climbing up off the air mattress into the big bed, the one his dad's been sleeping in. It's been a while since he and his dad have shared a bed, because Blaine's older and sometimes it seems kind of weird, but it's not like there's not plenty of room for both of them. They don't even have to touch, if it winds up being awkward. Blaine scoots over to the far edge, near the wall, just to make sure that there's space, and then he wonders if maybe he's making it weirder than it has to be. Or maybe it _is_ weird, maybe it's too weird, maybe Blaine's dad will feel uncomfortable and wind up going to sleep on the air mattress, which he shouldn't do because it's bad for his back, and Blaine's actually starting to seriously think about sliding back down to the air mattress again when the door opens up, and his dad steps back into the room, and Blaine closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep because he doesn't know what else to do.  
  
For a few seconds, neither of them moves.   
  
Then Blaine's dad sighs, and closes the door, and walks across the room. The bed dips under his weight; he slides under the covers, getting himself settled. Blaine knows he should probably just stay where he is, keep pretending to be asleep, but that feeling of _not enough_ is still there, so he rolls onto his back and reaches out. His hand finds his father's, and their fingers interlace, squeezing tightly. His father's grip is steady, strong and sure, and Blaine feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.  
  
His father makes an awful, choked noise.  
  
Blaine's eyes fly open; he sits up a little bit, looking over at his father, trying to figure out what's wrong, why he sounds like that. His father's face is turned away from him, but Blaine can see the way his chest sort of shakes with short, uneven breaths, and he keeps making these little noises, and oh. Oh god. He's crying. His father is _crying_. His father never cries, but he's crying now, and Blaine starts to panic a little.  
  
"Dad," he says, horrified, and rolls over enough to curl against his father's side, resting his head on his father's shoulder and holding onto his arm, but his dad's still shaking and he's still _crying_ and Blaine doesn't know what to do. "Dad, what did he _say_ to you?"  
  
His dad doesn't answer right away, but he keeps squeezing Blaine's hand, and Blaine's kind of at a complete loss right now, so he just holds on. "Just..." His father exhales, slow and shaky, like he's trying to calm himself down but it isn't really working. "Just know that we're not going to be like this, Blaine. I _promise_ you. Whatever happens... I won't let this happen to us. Not to us."  
  
" _Dad_ ," Blaine says again, because there's nothing else, and he squeezes his father's hand back and rests his head on his father's chest and tries very, very hard to project _calm_ and _love_ and _safe_. But his father just keeps crying, and there's nothing Blaine can do but hold on to him and say "I'll take care of you. I will. I promise I will," over and over again until his father reaches up with his free hand, settling it against Blaine's back, between his shoulder blades, holding him in place. And the shaking subsides gradually, but Blaine's father doesn't let go of him, so Blaine doesn't move; he stays where he is and whispers "I promise," into his father's shirt until he's too tired to keep talking, until they both finally fall asleep.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Blaine watches his father leave the kitchen, his hair rumpled and his shoulders slumped, and it's so hard not to chase after him, so hard to let him go. There's something going on; of course there is -- his father was _crying_ last night and he doesn't do that ever. But then Aunt Katie was crying, too, this morning, and Grandma's acting like everything's normal but then that's pretty much what she does all the time, so that doesn't mean anything. And now Grandpa wants Blaine's dad to look at some papers, which doesn't really make sense because Grandpa's always handled his own affairs -- it's one of his _things_ , that a man handles his own money and takes care of his own property, and so there's no way he'd want Blaine's dad to help, unless he...  
  
And it hits him, then, just as his grandma turns around with a bag of flour in her hands and says "Now, I'm sure you've _cooked_ with your father before, Blaine, but he's never really been that much for baking, so let's just --"  
  
"Actually," Blaine says, because it's _hit_ him and he can barely breathe and the last thing he wants to do right now is sift flour and baking soda together for his grandfather's birthday cake. "Actually, I just... I forgot. I have to... I have to call my mom. You know, because she... I have to call her. You can... you can start without me. I don't mind."   
  
"Blaine," Aunt Katie says, but Blaine's already running away again, hurrying down the hall towards the guest bedroom because it's the only space he has in this house that's even close to being his own. "Blaine, kiddo..."   
  
He flees from the ache in her voice, shuts the door behind him, and hurries over to collapse on the bed.   
  
It's not neat and tidy today; Blaine made it, not his dad, so it's sort of messy and rumpled up. The sheets smell a little like the aftershave that Blaine's mom always buys for his dad, and then also a little bit like the shampoo and conditioner that Blaine bought on Kurt's recommendation, and Blaine sprawls on his stomach, breathing in the scent of home and trying to think.   
  
His grandfather is _dying_. That's why he wants Blaine's dad to look at those papers. That's why Blaine's dad and his Aunt Katie are so sad. Grandpa is _dying_. Which doesn't really make sense, because he mostly seems healthy, and he's not even really that old. He's only seventy-four, and his heart's okay, so why would he...  
  
More importantly, what is Blaine supposed to do, now that he knows?  
  
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and stares at it for a little while. Kurt _did_ tell him to call if he needed anything, and right now he needs... He just _needs_. And Kurt would understand, because he almost lost his dad, so he would know what it's like for Blaine's dad; he'd get it.  
  
Wouldn't he?  
  
No. No, he probably wouldn't. Because Kurt loves his dad, but his dad loves him _back_ , and Blaine's father... he doesn't have that. Grandpa doesn't love him the same way that Burt loves Kurt, or even the same way that Blaine's dad loves Blaine. And that's something Kurt could never understand, not really. Blaine needs someone who understands, someone who --  
  
There's a knock at the door, and then it creaks open. "Blaine," Aunt Katie says, quietly, leaning in the doorway. "Are you... are you okay?"  
  
Blaine folds his arms underneath his chin and tilts his head to look up at her -- some of her hair is coming out of its ponytail, curling in long strands around her face, and there's flour on her tank top. She's paler than she used to be; her freckles have faded, like she doesn't go out into the sunlight anymore. He misses those freckles, misses the way she was when he was younger, before she moved in with Grandma and Grandpa to help take care of things. "I don't understand it," Blaine says, quietly. "He's not sick. I mean, he _is_ sick, but he's --"  
  
Aunt Katie doesn't ask him what he's talking about; she sits on the bed near his hip, rests her hand at the small of his back. "His body could keep going," she says, quietly. "But what's a body without a mind in it, Blaine? Your grandpa, he..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this. Your dad should --"  
  
" _Please_ , Aunt Katie," Blaine says, looking up at her, at the crow's feet around her eyes and the lines around her mouth. "I just... I just want to _help_. And I can't help if I don't... If I don't know what's going on. Please, just..."  
  
"I know," Katie says, and slides her hand up to ruffle Blaine's hair. She sighs, studying his face for a while. "Okay," she says, finally. "I'm sure you've figured out that your grandpa's getting worse." Blaine just nods, curling up on his side so he's closer to his aunt. "He's not really bad, not yet, but... it's bad enough that I think he's starting to see where he's heading. That he's figuring out just how bad it can get. And how quickly it will happen. And he's decided... He's decided not to put himself through that. Or... or the rest of us, either, although I don't know if he really..." Her face scrunches up, like she's forcing something back down inside herself. "But... Your grandfather could live for a long time, Blaine. If he chose to. He's just... He's choosing to _not_ live. Because it's not the kind of life he wants to have. And it's not..." Her eyes tear up; she wipes them with the back of her hand. "It's not the life I'd choose for him, either. And it's definitely not something your dad would want. It's just... This is all very sudden, for him. And it's hard for him to deal with."  
  
"Oh," Blaine says. He doesn't know what else to say. His grandpa's going to _kill_ himself. He's going to --  
  
"And I think..." Aunt Katie wipes her eyes again, gives Blaine sort of a feeble smile. "I mean, your dad's not the kind of guy who gives up easily, you know? He's always..." She swallows. "Dad's spent so much time trying to push him away, even since he was just a baby. He was always... But Ben just kept coming back for more. Like he thought if he just kept _trying_ , Dad would figure it out. He'd learn to love him. And I think now he's realized that it's too late. It's never going to happen. And that... that's hard, Blaine. It's just... hard."  
  
Blaine's eyes start to prickle with tears, because _god_. Yeah, of course it's hard. Of course it's... " _I_ love him," Blaine says, quietly.  
  
Aunt Katie lets her hand trail down until it's between Blaine's shoulder blades, patting him there. "I know you do, kiddo," she says. "And he knows it, and that's good. Because he's going to need you. And you don't even... you don't have to really say anything, or do anything. Just being there. That'll be enough. So just... stick with him, okay? Because he really needs you right now."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, and sits up, and blinks hard until he feels a little less like crying. Because his dad needs him, and he promised he'd take care of him, and that's what he's going to do. "Okay," he says, again, breathing in deeply and Aunt Katie smiles at him and pulls him close. "Yeah. I can do that."  
  
"I know," Aunt Katie says, wrapping her arm around him. "Your dad's lucky he's got you."  
  
Blaine has no idea what to say to that, so he just leans his head on his aunt's shoulder and doesn't say anything at all.  
  
They stay like that for a while, silent, and the rest of the house is quiet. Then Blaine hears a door opening and closing -- not being slammed, just... closing, the way his father always closes doors, a little more carefully than other people do it. Then there's footsteps, quick and light, all the way down the hall and into the living room. The screen door creaks open, then snaps shut. Blaine looks at his aunt, then drops his head and stares down at his hands, suddenly afraid. His dad doesn't run away; he's always the one to stay behind, to try to talk some sense into Grandpa, calm him down and make him behave. But now he's gone, and that's not good.  
  
"There's some iced tea left," Aunt Katie says, the quietest and gentlest of suggestions. Blaine is so, so glad she's there. "You could take some out to your dad, maybe. It's pretty hot out there."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, and takes another deep breath, and stands up. "Okay. I can... yeah. I'll do that."  
  
Aunt Katie stands up with him, puts her arm back around his waist. "Yeah," she says, smiling. "Your dad's really lucky." And she leads Blaine back into the kitchen, and pushes a plastic tumbler of iced tea into his hands, and sends him off with a kiss on his cheek, and Blaine straightens his shoulders and heads outside to try and be what his dad needs.  
  
  
*  
  
  
His dad falls asleep quickly, worn out from everything, from the effort it must have taken to try and stay calm while he told Blaine about how Grandpa had decided to die while he still had some dignity left, and how he knew that it was hard to accept that but that it was Grandpa's choice to make, and the best thing they could do was just respect it and not fight him, let him go peacefully and try to move on. And he'd been very calm; he hadn't even cried (although Blaine had, a little bit); and maybe a week ago, Blaine would have wondered if his dad even cared. But now he knows better.   
  
He pushes up onto one elbow, pulling back and watching his father sleep. He looks really fragile like this, with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, breathing shallow and peaceful. He doesn't look young, exactly, but at the same time, he kind of seems childlike. _Open_ , Blaine thinks. He's very open right now. It's almost a little scary, seeing him like this. It kind of makes Blaine feel like he understands why his father needs to be as guarded as he is most of the time. Because when he's not, when all the armor has fallen away and it's just him, he's small, and sort of fragile. It'd be so, so easy for someone to hurt him.  
  
Not that Blaine would ever hurt his father. Of course not. Not on purpose, anyway. And he'll try not to let anyone else do it either. It's just... It's kind of a big thing, taking care of his father. He hadn't realized just how big it was until right now, now that he's seen just how small his father can be.  
  
Something thumps in the hallway, and Blaine's dad frowns; his eyebrows draw together and his lips sort of pucker a little bit. But he doesn't wake up again, even when there's more thumping, heavy footsteps and big hands dragging along the wall, and when Blaine presses his lips to his father's forehead, the frown fades away, and his face smooths itself out again. "It's okay, Dad," Blaine says, even though his father can't hear him. "I've got this one."  
  
His dad doesn't so much as twitch as Blaine clambers over him and out of the bed; he's out like a light. Blaine can only hope that he stays that way.   
  
The hallway is lined with nightlights, so it's easy for Blaine to find his grandfather, standing halfway between the spare bedroom that Blaine and his father have been sharing and the linen closet at the end of the hall. He's facing the wall, both hands pressed against it, staring at it like he's expecting it to melt away or something, like he can't figure out why he can't just go through it. "Grandpa?" Blaine asks, stepping forward hesitantly. His grandfather turns to look at him, wary, maybe a little bit startled or something. "Can I... You should get back to bed. I can help you. If you want."  
  
His grandfather studies him as he continues to approach, taking each step with care. Blaine knows his grandfather stopped recognizing him some time between Thanksgiving and now, so he realizes that this has to be kind of creepy for him, having some strange kid in his house in the middle of the night. The last thing Blaine wants to do is freak him out. "You're..." Blaine's grandfather frowns. "You're here with your parents. Is that right? You're staying with us. With your parents."  
  
"Just my dad," Blaine says, stopping a few steps away from his grandfather, far enough back that he won't have to feel trapped, caught between a wall and a stranger in his own house. "I'm here with my dad, Ben. I'm Ben's son. I'm Blaine."  
  
"Ben's son," Grandpa repeats. "'Course you are. Because Katie doesn't have kids, and John doesn't..." He shrugs. "John was never the family type. Ben's the family type. Like his grandfather."  
  
Blaine nods. "That's right, Grandpa. Can I... Can I help you back to bed, now? You must be pretty tired."  
  
"Nah." His grandfather pushes away from the wall; Blaine has to reach out to help him, catching him by the elbow and holding him up as he stumbles slightly. "I'm not tired. There's a chair... Somewhere, there's a... She always moves it on me. Don't know why she does that."  
  
"Do you want me to help you find it?" Blaine asks. That seems to be his grandfather's main fixation, lately -- the blue chair in the living room, the one that's his, the one he keeps accusing Grandma of moving. It's a little weird, maybe, since as far as Blaine can tell, that chair hasn't budged in years, but he knows enough not to question it. "I'm pretty sure I know where it is."  
  
Grandpa grunts, but he shifts his weight a little closer, letting Blaine wrap an arm around his waist to help hold him up. His grandfather's big, and heavier than Blaine might have expected. Blaine wonders how Grandma and Aunt Katie manage to take care of him when he's so much bigger than they are. "And you're... Ben's son?" his grandpa asks again, after a little while.  
  
"Yeah," Blaine says, and shifts so his grandfather's arm is around his shoulders. It's easier to carry him that way. "Yeah. I'm Blaine. Ben's son."  
  
"Huh." His grandpa sighs, staggering forward. It seems to take forever for him just to lift one foot, move it ahead of him a few inches, and that's _with_ Blaine holding him up. "Ben was always a good kid. Kind of a geek, but. He behaved himself. Better than John did, anyway."  
  
It's a little weird, actually, that they're talking about Uncle John right now. Blaine can't remember the last time anyone mentioned his uncle; sometimes he kind of even forgets that he has one. But it seems like a safe enough topic, so Blaine figures they might as well keep going. "Did Uncle John get into a lot of trouble when he was a kid?" he asks, steering his grandfather away from the wall, pushing him into the living room one slow step after another.  
  
His grandfather shrugs a little bit, and Blaine has to tighten his grip on his grandfather's waist to compensate for the way it throws his balance off. "He was my kid," Grandpa says, casually. "Of course he got in trouble."  
  
Blaine takes a deep breath in through his nose, and bites back the urge to remind his grandfather that he has _two_ sons, not just one, and a daughter to boot. Not that it would help, anyway. Everyone in the family knows that John was his father's favorite. "And my dad, Ben," he says, quietly. "Was he more like Grandma? She seems like she was pretty quiet, when she was --"  
  
Grandpa starts laughing, so loud Blaine worries that he's going to wake up everyone in the house and so hard that it takes everything Blaine has to keep him upright. "She seems like... oh God, that's a good one." He chuckles and gives Blaine a little squeeze, and for some reason it makes Blaine want to cringe away, although he tries hard not to. "Emily was never quiet. God no. Never." He's still laughing a little bit, under his breath, as Blaine starts steering him towards the chair. "No, kiddo; if anything, Ben takes after his old man. He was always on the quiet side. The girls always liked that, you know. The quiet type."  
  
"What old man?" Blaine asks, because his grandfather's stopped making sense. "You mean Grandpa Richard? Because --"  
  
"His _old man_ ," Grandpa says, sounding kind of amused and annoyed all at once. "His father. You know what that is, right? A father?"  
  
Blaine shakes his head, because he knows he's missing something, because Grandpa can't be saying what Blaine thinks he's saying. "But _you're_ his father," he points out, trying to stay calm.  
  
Grandpa laughs again, sort of breathlessly. "Oh, kid. No. No, Ben's no son of mine. He..." Blaine's grandfather shakes his head. "Never mind. You're too young to get it. Just... Remember this: you've gotta be careful who you trust. Especially when it's women. Can't trust women, especially not if you're gonna be leaving them alone a lot. Tried to tell Ben that, a couple of times, but he's... Well. He'll figure it out eventually, I guess. Gotta learn it the hard way. But I guess most guys do. You probably will, too."  
  
"I..." Blaine just stares, too stunned to really process what he's hearing. "No," he says, letting go of his grandfather, letting him lower himself into the chair on his own. "I won't... I don't like girls, like that, so I won't..."  
  
His grandfather just grunts, settling himself into the chair. "You _think_ you don't like girls," he says. "But you'll change your mind. And even if you don't, don't think guys aren't just as bad, because we are, kid. Never a woman getting herself in trouble without some man to help her along, and that's a fact. So don't go thinking you're safe just 'cause you're queer. We're all pretty much the same, in the end."  
  
"Oh," Blaine says, his eyes wide, and his grandfather grins up at him like he's enjoying every last second of this, and Blaine knows he can't look at the old man for one second longer without doing something really stupid, even if he hasn't figured out what it's going to be just yet. "Did you... did you want a blanket? I could... Let me get you a blanket." And he turns and hurries away, back down the hallway to the linen closet.   
  
He doesn't open it up, though, not right away. He leans his head against it, closes his eyes, and tries to figure out whether he needs to think about what he's just heard, or just forget it entirely, block it out. God, his grandfather is awful. He's an awful, awful person.  
  
And the thing is, Blaine doesn't think his grandfather's that confused, that he's having some kind of moment where he's worse than normal. Maybe he is a little bit; he's pretty sure it hasn't really sunk in for him that Ben is Blaine's _father_ , or he'd never have said... But he was telling the truth when he said that he wasn't Ben's father, or part of the truth. His version of the truth, anyway.   
  
And the awful thing is that part of Blaine actually kind of hopes it's true. Because right now he doesn't _want_ that horrible old man to be his grandfather. He'd be better off -- they'd all be better off -- if he was just some stranger. But it's too late now. Because he's been Blaine's grandfather for seventeen years, and he's been Ben's dad for even longer than that, and that's not the sort of history that can be erased. Even if Grandpa can forget about it all, forget who his children are, no one else can. No one else ever will. They're stuck with him, for better or for worse.  
  
Blaine's sure there are worse fates in the world, but right now he can't think of a single one.  
  
"Get lost out there, kiddo?" his grandfather calls, and Blaine actually flinches at the sound of his voice.   
  
But then he pushes away from the closet door, takes a deep breath, and straightens his shoulders. "I'm coming, Grandpa," he calls back, then opens the closet door (carefully, trying not to be too loud about it), pulls out an afghan, and heads back towards the living room.   
  
His grandfather is still in his chair, his chin dipping down towards his chest, but he lifts his head and opens his eyes as Blaine approaches him. "Here, Grandpa," Blaine says, and his voice doesn't shake at all, and his hands are steady as he shakes the blanket out, spreading it over his grandfather's body and tucking him in. "I found you a blanket."  
  
"You're a good kid," Grandpa says, his head tipping back down. "Kinda like Ben. Ben was always a good kid, even if he... But he wasn't any trouble. It was kind of nice, having a kid that wasn't any trouble. Even if he wasn't mine, exactly."  
  
"Grandpa," Blaine says, again. "Does he... Did you ever tell him? Does he know?"  
  
His grandfather just shakes his head. "It's late, kid," he says. "Are you staying here? With your parents? Because you should probably be in bed by now. There's a guest room, down the hall. You can sleep there."  
  
Which is not really an answer, but then, maybe it kind of is. And even if it's not, Blaine knows when it's time to back off. "Okay," he says, quietly. "I will. Goodnight, Grandpa."  
  
Grandpa grunts back at him, and Blaine turns away and leaves the room.  
  
He's worried that all the noise will have woken his father up -- he's usually a pretty light sleeper -- but his dad's still laying exactly the way Blaine left him, flat on his back with his hands settled on his stomach, eyes tight shut and his mouth a little open. Blaine stands at the edge of the bed for a few seconds and just watches him sleeping. _Does he know?_ And his grandfather had shaken his head; _no_. No, he doesn't know.   
  
And he's not going to find out. Not from Blaine, anyway. It'd probably just make things harder, in the end.  
  
Blaine sighs and crawls back into bed, curling up against his father's side and resting his head on his father's chest. "I love you," he whispers, and strains to hear his father's heart beating in response, the only answer he really needs. "I love you, Dad."  
  
He stays that way, clinging to his father and listening to the slow, steady sound of his heart beating until it finally lulls him to sleep.  
  
  
*  
  
  
There's some problem with the bill for their rental car, and Blaine's dad has to go into the office to take care of it, so Blaine takes the opportunity to step out and check his text messages. He hasn't really had the chance to talk to Kurt much in the last couple of days, and there's a message from him that Blaine hasn't read.   
  
_**I'm not mad at you. I know you're probably really busy with your family right now. But text me when you can, okay? Even just to say hi? I miss you.**_  
  
Blaine flinches, and immediately hits _reply_.  
  
 _sorry  
  
i miss you too  
  
it's been so weird, kurt_  
  
It takes Kurt longer than usual to reply, long enough that Blaine starts to worry. Maybe Kurt _is_ mad at him, after all. Maybe it's been so long since he sent that last message that he's given up on Blaine replying at all; maybe he...  
  
Then Blaine's phone buzzes with a new message.  
  
 _ **Sorry, I'm @ Mercedes. Give me a second.**_  
  
Blaine is halfway through typing out _it's okay, i don't mind_ when his phone buzzes again. Apparently, when Kurt said he needed a second, he meant it literally.  
  
 _ **Sorry. Like I said, Mercedes. Are you okay? Where are you? Have you gone to the airport yet?**_  
  
 _just got here. dad's dropping off the car. looking forward to going home._  
  
 _ **I'll bet.  
  
Are you okay? I'm worried about you.**_  
  
Blaine swallows hard, because that's exactly what he never wanted to happen, but he kind of already knew that he'd screwed that one up. He knew that Kurt was worrying about him. Which means that there's no point in Blaine trying to act like he's okay now; Kurt already knows enough to be suspicious. Blaine might as well just tell the truth.  
  
 _sorry.  
  
actually i don't really know how i am.  
  
it's been a lot, kurt. just a lot to deal with.  
  
can i wait and tell you when i get home?  
  
i will tell you, i promise, i just want to do it with you actually there._  
  
It's a little while before Kurt replies, but it's not actually a bad pause. More like Kurt's taking a deep breath before he says anything, and Blaine can relate to that.  
  
 _ **Okay.  
  
My dad's already kind of counting on me going over to your house tomorrow anyway.  
  
Not that we have to, I mean. If you just want to take the day off and sleep or whatever, that's fine, too. I can make other plans.**_  
  
Blaine half-smiles at that; he can kind of see Kurt having his little freakout, trying not to be presumptuous or whatever.   
  
_tomorrow's fine.  
  
i still want to show you the bel air. we could do that, maybe.  
  
and then talk afterwards, because i know we need to do that, too.  
  
and my aunt katie's emailing me some pictures today so i can show them to you. baby pictures and stuff. and pictures of my dad when he was a kid._  
  
 _ **I'd like that.  
  
How is your dad? Is he okay? You said he and your grandfather were fighting.**_  
  
Blaine glances up at the glassed-in office of the rental car company, sees his dad standing at the counter. He smiles and gives Blaine a little wave; Blaine waves back.  
  
 _yeah, they fought.  
  
like i said, it was kind of a lot to deal with.  
  
but i'm taking care of him._  
  
 _ **Then he's in excellent hands, and I won't worry about him.**_  
  
It brings a smile to Blaine's face; he's not sure how Kurt has known him for so long and still has so much faith in him, but he kind of likes it.  
  
 _thanks kurt  
  
i love you_  
  
 _ **I love you, too.  
  
Okay, I have to go, and you've got a plane to board. I'll see you tomorrow.  
  
Just tell me when to come over, and I'll be there.**_  
  
Blaine's father finally slips out of the rental car office, crossing over to where Blaine is standing. "Making plans with Kurt?"  
  
Blaine hums, still busily typing out   
  
_i will. i love you. bye._  
  
Then he hits _send_ and tucks his phone away.   
  
"I was thinking he could come over and see the Bel Air," he says, slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder, his backpack over the other. He grabs his father's briefcase with his free hand, leaving his dad with nothing to carry but his suitcase. "Maybe take her out for a ride? She's been sitting in the garage for kind of a long time. I was hoping we could do it tomorrow, but if you'd rather we --"  
  
"Tomorrow's fine," Blaine's father says, watching him with curious eyes, a little bemused. Then he shrugs and starts heading off towards the terminal, his free hand brushing up against Blaine's as they walk together. "Blaine," he adds, after a little bit. "You know you don't have to... I'm all right, really. You don't have to take care of me."  
  
"I know," Blaine says, reaching out and finding his father's hand, tangling their fingers together. "I know I don't have to. But I _want_ to."  
  
"Oh. All right, then." Blaine's father takes a deep breath, squeezes his hand. Blaine squeezes back. "Thank you," he says, quietly.  
  
Blaine leans in a little bit, just enough to brush his father's shoulder with his own. "Love you," he says, quietly.  
  
"I love you, too," his father says, just as softly. And they don't stop walking, or even falter for a second; they just keep on going, hand-in-hand, making their way home.


End file.
